


Marked

by Denerim



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I'm stupid and sad, Loghain is stupid and sad, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Talking and thinking and feeling, smut with feelings, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 06:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denerim/pseuds/Denerim
Summary: A man's reflections on himself and the woman who turned his world upside down.





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost two years old and I can confidently say my writing has improved since then. Rad.

She will always be to him a wonder, a mystery he can never fully understand.

His fingers glide along the slope of her shoulder and down her arm, as in awe of what she feels like as he was the very first time she allowed him to touch her. Her skin is warm, clear, almost glowing, and he leans forward to kiss the inside of her wrist.

Her eyes follow his every move, alight with glee. A faint smile tugs at the corners of her lips at his solemn expression.

 It is a routine Loghain seemed to thoroughly enjoy, letting his hands wander all over her body those rare lazy mornings when secrecy and duty do not keep them apart. The process is slow, meticulous, and more often than not ends with them wrapped around each other, moving together in a languid pace until they reach completion.

Always, he looks at her like it’s the first time. The first time he sees her, the first time he touches her or lies in her bed. The lines of his face are drawn together in intense concentration, brows furrowed as he reaches for the dip of her neck, feeling her pulse dance beneath his fingertips.

He catches sight of her amused smile. His gaze lingers on hers for a moment, but he will not let her distract him from his exploration.

She never asks why he does this, why he sometimes spends hours outlining every curve and contour of her body. To her, it’s no more than a little game of his, an old man’s whim, and he sees no reason to tell her otherwise. If she takes pleasure from it, then he is happy to provide. But for him, the nature of this ritual holds a different meaning.

Every caress he bestows upon her, every kiss he places on her pale skin is an offering, an act of love. He cannot know what the future holds, for her, for them. And if their ways part, he hopes she will take him with her. His memory, his scent, his touch. _I was here. On this spot, I kissed you. Do not forget me, please…_

But this is a reminder for him as well, so that he can hold her in his arms even when she’s not there, taste her when he misses her most. A small piece of her for him to keep, to fool his loneliness.

She hums softly as his fingers trail down her abdomen and she spreads her legs a little wider. An invitation, but he is not quite done yet.

His eyes stray to the tattoos stretching from her collarbone to the top of her thighs, dark vines twisting and twining over the trim expanse of her torso. He knows her kin painted their faces with intricate symbols, but to see the strange patterns adorning the rest of her body intrigues him and stirs his desire even more.

And yet, their significance remains a mystery. He has been hesitant to ask… Her people, especially her clan, are still a sore subject. He does not wish to offend her.

But this, her heritage, is an important part of her history, intrinsically tied to the woman she has become. And he…More than anything, he wanted to know her. Her thoughts, her past, her feelings. He wanted her trust, and he was prepared to do anything she asked to earn it.

Because he loves her and will devote the rest of his life learning how to make her happy, if only she’d let him. If only…

“Tell me…” He strokes her chin, his thumb tracing the lines just below her lips.“What is the meaning of these markings? What do they represent?”

Her hand flies to her cheek on reflex. The ink had dried long ago, now as much a part of her as her skin, but the anticipation of that day, the rites that preceded and followed it, the smell of the Keeper’s aravel, every little detail, however insignificant, is still fresh in her memory.

“They are called _vallaslin_. Blood writing. To wear them is to accept your place within the clan, and all the responsibilities that come with it.”

She had been waiting for that moment for as long as she could remember herself. For the day she would be acknowledged as an adult, a valued member of the clan, able to repay them at last for everything they’ve done for her. She had been working towards that goal from the time she was old enough to walk, watching, always watching, as the elders went about their business, absorbing their every move and dreaming of the day she would join them.

They all knew their lives would change that day. Some had been dreading it, others were looking forward to it. Fenarel, ever the braggart, claimed he would be first, braver and worthier than all of them. Merrill began fidgeting whenever this conversation came up, mumbling she would probably fail and embarrass the Keeper again. And Tamlen…Tamlen would grow unusually quiet every time she asked him about it.

She could not understand. _“_ Why? What are you afraid of?” she would persist, annoyed by his increasingly sullen mood.

 _“_ That I won’t be worthy of you if I don’t make it!”

But Fenarel was wrong. It was her, the oldest in their group, who got her vallaslin first. And it was all worth it, from the fasting to the days spent meditating in isolation, from the sleepless nights to the pain of the needle scraping against her skin.

 _This is my purpose,_ she thought as she stepped out of the aravel, her head held high. _The reason I was born._

Everyone rushed to hold her, congratulate her. Ashalle wept, but she made no attempt to comfort her.

Merrill brought her a small bouquet of her favorite forget-me-nots. “You look beautiful, lethallan. I knew you could do this.”

Tamlen was smiling as he kissed her, but it did not reach his eyes.

But he was wrong too. When his turn came, he did not falter. And when she ran to embrace him, he smiled, and it was real this time, bright, golden, just as he was…

Fingers wind around a stray lock of hair, the gentle gesture pulling her out of her trance. For a dazed second, she sees him beside her, running his hand through her hair and smiling down at her.

But Tamlen will never smile at her again.

Her silence reveals more than her words. His question brought back unwelcome memories. He did not intend to upset her, and he will not press the matter further.

His lips touch her temple, too lightly for this to be a kiss. “My heart…”

She shakes her head, placing a hand on his cheek. “No. It was nothing you said.”

Loghain is a sweet, considerate lover. His devotion to her, the earnestness of his affection, never fail to move her. Every day, she marvels at this strange whim of fate that brought them together.

Because she loves this. She loves him, and there will be no more secrets between them.

She clears her throat. “We use many different motifs, each of them representing one of the Creators.”

“And yours?” he asks before he can stop himself. “Which one do yours represent?”

“June, Master of Crafts. It was he who taught us how to fashion weapons from ironbark.”

He expected the symbols to be of religious significance. So, the Dalish mark their faces and bodies as a rite of passage, a way to celebrate the beginning of adult life. For her, a woman who thrived on hard work and responsibility, he had no doubt it was a memorable occasion, one she must have long been looking forward to.

“It sounds like a painful process,” he muses, eyeing the tattoos with interest. How he longs to lick the painted leaves at the underside of her breasts…

Her lips curl in an uncharacteristically smug smile. “It was. But I did not make a sound.”

 _The needle felt like a thousand sharp claws ripping her apart_.

_“I am strong. My faith will see me through this”. Her gaze was steel, her mouth a grim line. She would endure._

Once again he finds himself awestruck. He had seen her inner strength, recognized it from the moment he met her. That she went through such a harsh ordeal unscathed did not surprise him, and his respect for her deepens.

“But why a god of crafts?”

A war deity would have been his guess, if he were honest. But he should have learned by now that she never behaves the way he expected her to.

She chuckles at his curiosity. “I was apprenticed to the clan’s craftsman for a time,” she explains. “Until I found out my true calling was elsewhere.”

He does not have to ask what she meant. Some of the scars her blade gave him have yet to heal.

“Besides…”

Her head drops to the side, thick waves of white hair falling over her face. He reaches out to tuck a ringlet behind her ear, concerned by her sudden change of mood.

“It is said that June created himself. Out of molten iron and smoke he sprang, willing himself into existence.”

The first time she heard that tale, she was no more than a child, all round cheeks and stubby fingers. They had all been gathered around the fire, listening to hahren Paivel with bright wide eyes. His lessons were the most boring part of their day, but everyone loved his stories.

Fenarel had scoffed at the tale, declaring it nonsense. Nobody can create themself out of _nothing_ , he claimed. Not even a god.

But something in that story resonated with her. That night, she returned to Ashalle’s aravel with a frown too deep for her child’s face. Ashalle prodded her with gentle questions, but she had no answers to give her.

“I’ve never known my parents. All my life I strove to rely on no one but myself. My choices might not always be the wisest, but they are my own.”

Loghain studies her in silence, letting her words sink in. To accept the consequences of your actions, to hold yourself accountable for your mistakes required a certain sort of bravery few possessed. He had liked to believe he was one of them, though he took no pride in the fact.

 Years of countless mistakes and regrets had taken their toll on him, poisoning his mind, turning him into a bitter, resentful man.

But Araleen is different. She accepts her own shortcomings with quiet grace, her judgement never clouded by anger or disappointment. She holds her emotions firmly in check, never allowing them to affect her or distract her from her work. She is the person he once thought he was, but too late realized he could never be.

He can only hope the years will not take her dignity from her, or better yet, that she will never make the mistakes he did.

His hand moves over her face, fingers gently cradling her cheek.

 _I am proud of you_ , he wants to say, but the words ring hollow coming from him of all people.

“You should be proud of who you are,” he says instead, voice strained and eyes gleaming. “Of what you’ve done.”

He knows she will deny it. Say she only did her duty, nothing worthy of praise. And his chest will grow tight at her selfless claims. He will think it’s not possible to love her more than he does this very moment.

But that is not true. For every day he realizes he loves her a little more than he did before.

“I did what I had to. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He pulls her to him and kisses her without a word, catching her breath just as she exhales. Araleen tangles her tongue with his, meeting the kiss with fervor as she threads her fingers through his hair.

Before they know it, he is curled against her back, one hand cupping her breast, the other teasing her slick folds. She voices her approval with a soft moan, and this is all the encouragement he needs.

His cock slides in and out of her with ease, his rhythm slow, unhurried. It is amazing, how good this feels – how she feels. Warm, wet, inviting, and so impossibly tight. Her walls clench around him and he grunts with desire, his hot breath tickling her ear.

Araleen lazily rocks her hips in response, her backside pressing firmly against his length. Loghain groans and thrusts deeper as he bites down on her shoulder, a punishment for toying with him.

“ _Yes!_ ” she hisses and drapes her leg over his to grant him better access.

 _Maker…_ Nothing incites him more than her cries of pleasure. He rolls a nipple between his fingers, feeling the pink bud harden under his touch. His ministrations are rewarded with another hoarse whimper and she reaches behind to rest her hand on his face.

“Loghain…”

Her voice is little more than a quivering whisper, enough to send him over the edge. He pushes harder, picking up pace and driving himself deep inside her until he is fully buried within her welcoming heat.

The wet sounds of skin on skin, her ragged breaths, the softness of her flesh against his rough palm…Only when they are one does he feel whole again, healed, worthy. When she takes him inside her body and calls out his name with a needy cry, filling both his mind and body with the thought and feel of her.

Not that there is a time when he is not thinking about her.

Her thighs shudder and her breathing becomes frantic, signaling her release. He begins to pound her relentlessly, caught between wanting to prolong her pleasure and reach his climax along with her.

Her reaction is enthusiastic. She grabs his hand and guides it to her hip with a demanding howl, grinding hard against him. Loghain lets out a throaty chuckle and gives her ass a light pinch before turning his attention to her lovely back. He trails kisses from her shoulder to her ear, desperate to taste her a little longer, only a little longer…

“I love you,” he whispers just as her peak hits her and she trembles in his embrace.

“And I love you,” she pants, and he sighs, hiding his face in her hair. His grip on her hips tightens as he prepares for his final thrusts.

He spills himself inside her with a relieved moan. His fingers dig painfully into her skin, but she revels in the sensation. Loghain’s prowess in the bedroom was as thrilling as it was unexpected. These more aggressive moments were only another pleasant surprise.

He remains sheathed inside her until he is limp again, but he does not want to leave her now. He buries his face into the hollow of her neck, arms wrapped loosely around her waist. The room is quiet except for their shallow breaths and their heartbeat, at last returning to its normal rate. They do not need to speak. The silence is easier on them, familiar, the way their fingers entwine more intimate than any comfort words can offer.

In the past year he's made more mistakes than he had in a lifetime. He lost everything; plunged his country into chaos, risked his daughter’s position, endless errors and miscalculations he was sentenced to spend the rest of his days atoning for.

But those mistakes led him to her. Despite everything he has done, she accepts him, loves him. And that was something he can never regret.

Araleen shifts on the bed, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. Beads of sweat glisten on her brow but even in this disheveled state, she looks radiant.

He can feel the warm coil of desire settle in his stomach. He will readily take her again there and then, if she wishes it.

Her fingers stroke his cheek, tracing the faintest hints of stubble. “Have you considered growing a beard?”

“Would you like me to?” he asks without much thought. A beard was too troublesome to maintain, he found. He lacks the patience to care for it, and doing a sloppy job of keeping it properly groomed will only irritate him more.

But if she wants it…If it will make him more appealing to her… She does have a strange fascination with the hair on his chest, after all.

“Hmm…”  Her lips brush along his jawline, stopping just an inch away from his mouth. Loghain groans in protest and she offers him an almost girlish giggle in response. “A beard would make it harder to kiss you,” she whispers.

“Indeed, I cannot argue with that.”

She smiles up at him then and the tenderness in her eyes brings forth emotions only she can summon in him. This moment, he knows, will stay with him forever.

Her hand never leaves his face, caressing him with a gentleness that renders him speechless. A simple show of affection, but he can never have enough of it. Of her.

She rakes her fingers through his hair, smoothing loose strands back into place. “You are a very handsome man, Loghain.”

His throat goes dry at her words. He had never been called such, not even on his best days. Maric was the handsome one, with his golden armor and easy smiles that made women and men alike swoon. Perhaps there was a time he had been envious of his friend’s charm, when he was young and foolish and pining after the woman who was meant to be Maric's queen.

But that time has long passed and he never gave much thought to appearances.

Until he met her. She truly did change everything.

“Is that so?” he replies carefully, if only because she expects him to say something.

“You doubt it.” It was not a question. She grazes the strong curve of his jaw with the back of her hand. “You would not, if you could see yourself the way I do.”

Her voice is but a whisper, low and soft. Want and melancholy both bubble up in his chest, an ache so sharp it tears at his heart.

What does she see when she looks at him? An old soldier, well past his prime, scarred and bitter, molded by a lifetime of war? A disgraced teyrn she deemed deserving of a second chance, to undo all the wrongs he had sown? The man who loved her and who would gladly lay down his life for her?

“Then tell me,” he says softly. He needs to know. He needs her praise, her approval; he needs to know she sees something worthy of her love in him.

She lays her head on his shoulder. “You are a man committed to your cause. You stood up for what you thought was right till the end and did not falter. You accepted the fate others forced upon you without protest and never shirked from your duties.” Her nose brushes against his cheek. “I admire that. I think…I think we are very much alike, you and I.”

He smiles at the admission and plants a small kiss on her forehead.

“You have been my one source of happiness these past months,” she continues. “I never thought I’d feel like this again. Yet here you are...” Her voice wavers. “I love you, Loghain. There is no other way to put it.”

He holds her close to him, the warmth of her body seeping into his skin. How she soothed his soul when she spoke those words… All his fears, all his insecurities pale in comparison to the bliss that washes over him every time he hears this simple declaration fall from her beloved lips.

“My love…” he whispers in her hair. “Araleen…”

“But more than that…”  The corners of her mouth pull up in that wicked half-smile. “You truly are handsome.”

Her fingers drift from his chest to his arm. “Your body is strong, sturdy…” She palms his bicep to prove her point. “I love it when you hold me.”

He nips at her earlobe, a hand squeezing the supple curve of her ass. “You know I cannot keep my hands off you…”

“And your eyes…There is ice in your gaze but I burn every time you look at me. See?” She presses his hand on her entrance and Loghain gasps. “I am already wet for you…”

His fingers expertly part her nether lips before slipping inside, his thumb circling her exposed clit. Araleen sighs as two fingers curl and push upwards inside her. Her hips buck against his palm and Loghain responds with an amused snort. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers from her dripping slit and she gives out a low whine, disappointed at the loss of contact.

Loghain brings his fingers to his lips. Her scent, the taste of her arousal is intoxicating and to know that he was the cause for that lustful gaze in her beautiful eyes is no small stroke to his ego.

A violent shudder jolts through his spine. He wanted to devour her. He wants to dip his tongue into her cunt and fuck her with his mouth, lick her from one hole to the other while her delicious white thighs shake around him as she cums against his mouth…

“Maker!” he cries out and Araleen throws her head back in a fit of laughter.

His bold seductress had crawled up next to him and taken his cock in hand, teasing him with slow, deliberate strokes that draw deep groans from his chest.

“What would you have of me?” she asks in a husky voice. “Shall I take you in my mouth?” She bends down to quickly swirl her tongue around the tip, already glistening with need.

Loghain hisses at the sensation. The offer is tempting, and yet…

 “I want to be inside you,” he pleads and his voice cracks, raw with emotion.

A triumphant smirk spreads over her face and she moves to straddle his waist, happy to comply. She drags her nails down his chest as she leans over his body while offering an irresistible view of her backside and his cock jerks at the sight, nested snugly between her thighs. She runs her tongue along the side of his neck, relishing in the salty taste of his sweat. 

His hand slides from her shoulder to her waist, seeking to get hold of her shapely ass again. Araleen lifts his chin and kisses him with such passion he moans in her mouth. Her ardent display of desire sets his blood on fire and he pulls her down to him, fingers tangled in her hair.

She breaks the kiss only to press her lips on his collarbone and she begins to kiss a wet trail from his shoulder to his chest. Her fingers thread in the patch of coarse black hair there and Loghain smiles to himself.

His smile is quickly replaced by an expression of mindless ecstasy as she returns her attention to his neglected cock. Her hips move back and forth across the length of his shaft, from the root to the swollen head. Yet she refuses to take him inside her and grant them both the release they desperately need.

 _You cruel enchantress,_ he thinks fondly and thrusts his hips upwards with a disapproving glare.

“Impatient man,” she chides but her hand closes on the base and she finally lowers herself onto him.

Her delighted sighs ring like the sweetest tune in his ears, the undulating movement of her hips the most erotic sight he's ever witnessed. Her inner muscles tense and relax around him as she rocks up and down on his thick length.

His eyes rove over her face and body, hungrily taking in her form. Her soft lips are parted in an enraptured expression, her breath coming out in short huffs. Her small, pale breasts rise and fall with her every thrust and he brings both hands to cup them, kneading the firm yet pliant flesh. Her white curls, always carefully combed, are now an unruly mess but they only add to her near feral beauty. A faint shade of red tints her cheeks, ears and shoulders, the proof of her satisfaction.

She is magnificent.

Her head rolls to the side and her eyes fall shut, the feel of his cock filling her and stretching her walls overwhelming her senses. Her mind soon shuts down, letting her instincts take control instead. His body moves in perfect sync with hers, finding all her sensitive spots before she urges him to touch her where she needs to be touched. Only with him could she truly let herself go.

Her fingers dig into the wrinkled sheets and she pushes harder on him as she feels the pressure of her imminent orgasm pooling in her belly. Loghain moves a hand over her toned stomach and then to her waist to steady her while the other reaches between them to trace rapid circles on the pink nub at the apex of her sex.

“Loghain!”

Her voice echoes off the stone walls, its urgent tone bringing him closer to his own climax.

The hot rush of release shoots through his gut. A deep growl escapes his lips as he spends himself inside her, panting and holding her down to him. She spasms frantically at his twitching cock and she collapses into his waiting arms with a long moan.

Loghain takes her in a gentle embrace and brushes out her hair with his fingers, giving them both time to recover. It was by all means an intense encounter, even by their standards.

Her long hair fans out across his chest and he smooths a hand through her white locks and along her back. How warm and comforting is the weight of her body atop his…

He presses a kiss on the crown of her head. “You were incredible.”

She gives him a quick peck on the cheek in response before hiding her face in his chest again. She does not want to leave…Not today. She wants to spend all of her day here, with him. Talking about everything and nothing, then fucking, and talking some more, then fucking again…Or they could simply hold each other in silence. Bask in the closeness she thought was forever lost to her. Allow herself to be a woman, not someone’s hero.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she mutters quietly.

Her words are a well-sharpened knife stabbing at his heart, twisting in a wound he knows will never heal.

“We could.”

His voice is less than a whisper, his words not meant to reach her.

_Say the word and we will never be parted again…_

What a blessing it would be, to be bound to her for eternity before the eyes of gods and men… It does not matter how it would be done. If she'd wish to uphold the customs of her people, then he would happily follow her lead. Or a small, private ceremony; only the two of them and a priest to perform the rites. Anything, so long as he could be with her, forever.

 His arms tighten around her. It is his greatest dream and his greatest folly, his desire to wed her. He knows it was too soon to even entertain that possibility, that a mere mention of it could end what they have in an instant. But it does not make his fantasies any less sweet.

“Araleen, I wanted to tell you…”

Her breathing is slow, deep, all her limbs heavy and completely relaxed. She looks so peaceful in her sleep; he would be loathe to disturb her. They have tarried enough as it is, but damn the Wardens and their duties. She has already done more than enough for them.

He pulls the discarded fur blanket over her shoulders, always careful not to wake her. Araleen exhales softly and snuggles up to him, her face pressed against his neck.

It is not long before his own weariness catches up to him. As he slowly slips into the Fade with her nestled safely in his embrace, he forgets everything. In that fleeting moment between consciousness and sleep, he finds peace.

 

 


End file.
